When Peonies Bloom

I am sharing my post from last June
as a loving tribute and a cherished remembrance
to my mother who passed away on June 7, 2013...
and who I am missing so very deeply this Mother's Day.

I still find myself struggling;
sadness cutting its way deep and hard into my soul;
grief still tying my emotions into an unwelcome knot;
tears spilling at unexpected moments;
memories so clear and sharp as if they happened yesterday.

If you are blessed to be with your mother today,
do me a favor.  
Hug her especially long.
Whisper in her ear how much you love her,
and then look into her eyes and tell her again...and again.

I wish I had one more chance to do just that...

I miss you, Mom.
And I love you with every portion of my heart.

June 9, 2013

God's timing is always perfect ~
even though our minds don't always understand it.
Even though it may be painful to us mere humans.
It stretches us.
Grows us.
Makes us stronger.

Snowflakes make the world slumber.
Rain provides a much needed drink.
Clouds cool the earth.
Sunshine brings the blooms.
All in God's perfect timing.

And every person's life is a story written by God's hand.

♥

As roses and peonies spill into the garden back at her farmhouse,
she sits by her mother's bedside in the nursing home.
Twelve days have passed since her father's entrance into heaven.
Still dazed.
Heavy hearted.
World still reeling.

 Remaining simply and humbly in the hands of God,
clinging to him and surrendering herself to his love,
she is still.
Hands clasped.
Words whispered...
"I love you, Mom."

Uncorking the bottle of memories carried deep in her heart,
floating like a sweet fragrance through her soul...

remembering.

Up on tiny tiptoes helping her mother hang laundry by the big old lilac bush in the backyard...

   standing shoulder to shoulder with her mother slicing apples for the pot of simmering homemade cinnamon applesauce on the stove...

walking hand in hand with her mother in the warm sand along the lake shore by the old cottage,
searching for ladybugs...

watching her mother help patrons select books at the library ~ her smile a constant jewel...


As the years passed, the moments changed.
She was the one assisting and lending a hand now.

Helping her aging mother apply her always present lipstick after lunch...

guiding her to the bedroom for an afternoon nap...

lifting her from her chair onto unsteady feet,
her smile ever present.

Threads of life woven into a quilt of forever love.

And now,
she bent her head in prayer over her mother's unresponsive, sleeping body.
Praying for release.
Relief.
Praying for God to take over.
Sitting in the silence of His Presence.
Breathing deep draughts of His Promise.
His peace guarding her heart and pressing close to her mother.

Her hope.
Her song.
 Angels present and hovering near.
Tears fell.
"I will miss you so much, Mom."


I believe in Jehovah God who created the whirling galaxies, the birds soaring in the sky overhead, the endless crashing waves and all that dances within them. I believe in Father of all who knits together life, made in His very own image, in the secret quiet of our beings.
I believe in Jesus Christ, the One with no earthly Father, with the dust of this earth between His toes, and with our names etched onto the palm of His hands, right beneath the nail scars…Who now sits at the Father’s right hand making endless intercession on our behalf. I believe in the stone rolled away, in the Body being raised, in the first fruits of the dead…and us all following soon, very soon.
I believe in the Cross as our only Hope, our only Claim, and our only Foundation. I believe that in the pounding surf of life we have only one thing to cling to: the feet of our Lord, hanging on that tree, His lifeblood flowing down, washing us whiter than snow.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, moving, whispering, indwelling our very skin. I believe in living by the Spirit, walking in the Spirit, and producing fruit in the Spirit…in the Spirit who helps us in our weakness with groanings that can’t be expressed in words.
I believe in the infallibility of the Bible, God’s Word – a sure Word, a pure Word, the only secure Word. I believe the words on those pages are breathed from the very throne room of heaven, are the love letter penned from the heart of the Lover of our souls; a beacon of light for stumbling feet to find sure footing on a dark path.
I believe there is more than believing. There is living what I believe.
~Ann Voskamp


Minutes ticked.
Hours passed.
Quiet.
Searching.
Waiting.

And when God's timing was perfect,
he swept her mother up in his strong arms and carried her tired body,
to be renewed and refreshed,
through the heavenly gates.
His loving embrace warm and healing.

She joined her beloved husband ~ both now made whole.
Healthy.
Happy.
Experiencing the incredible joy, beauty, and wonderment of heaven...

together.

“Yet I am always with you;
you hold me by my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.”
Psalm 72:23-26


God's timing.
Always perfect.
Always beautiful.

She will always remember her mother....and her father....

when the roses and peonies bloom.

~  Eucharisteo  ~

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Vintage Paintings

While scrounging around in the my basement recently,

I came across a few paintings stacked in a corner
that I had somehow forgotten about over the years.

As I sorted through them,
I found myself smiling at the sweet memories they evoked in my heart.

This painting that was given to me a long time ago by someone who was going to toss it.
I grabbed it and stuffed it in my car.

I loved this tranquil scene with its soft edges and quiet feel.

I temporarily propped it in front of the large mirror on top of the bookcases in my studio

next to the vintage hatbox that my friend, Randi, gave me (top hatbox).

[I wallpapered the hatbox in a pretty blue floral print.]

Another painting that I rescued from the abyss in my basement was one that was created by my great grandmother, Grace Whitman.

It's approximately 60 years old.
(I think she may have had a bit of bohemian hippy in her sweet old soul.)

I always loved Grandma's name.

After some ancestory research many years ago,

it was discovered that I am related to Walt Whitman.

How cool is that?

Maybe that's where my love of writing, photography, and nature is rooted.

Three generations of my father's side of the family dabbled in painting on canvas.

My great-grandmother, Grace,

my grandmother, Lorena,

and my father, Gordon.

My Dad even helped my Mom paint a still-life once.
Dad painted his first and Mom loved it so much,
she wanted to try to make one.

I can vividly remember him sitting by her side at the kitchen table
evening after evening,
guiding her hand and patiently teaching her some basics of oil painting.

Of all the paintings I have, I treasure these two the most.
The one he painted is the smaller one on the right.
Mom's is the larger one on the left.

I feel blessed to own paintings from each of them.

This beautiful rose painting was originally purchased at the big Brimfield Flea Market,
found a temporary home with Stephanie Bradley,
and landed a forever home at Heaven's Walk.

Thank you, my sweet friend!

The blush pink rose painting on the right was purchased for a song at the Allegan Antique Market last summer. I couldn't pass up the soft pastel colors.

It's almost like a garden is blooming on the frantle in my kitchen.
The tangled prairie hearts I made lay scattered like silver petals...

"Little Girl Sitting" was painted by my father over 45 years ago

when he was a rookie student in his first painting class.

It's one of the largest of the paintings he created.

When I was just a child, I remember him saying that it reminded him of me.
It used to hang in the entry foyer of my childhood home.

"Be The Light" was another one of his creations.

I always loved this painting because of the beautiful shades of blues.

It was the main reason why I ended up getting married on the beach in front of a lighthouse in northern Michigan 29 years ago.

I also fell in love with coastal Maine when I attended a friend's wedding out there one summer,
where the Husband and I stayed in a bed & breakfast inn on the coast
and fell asleep each night to the sound of frothy blue waves crashing on the rocky shore.

History...

 memories...

and evidence of God-given talent

surrounds me in my studio.

It feels like great-Grandma Grace,

Grandma Lorena,

my mom and my dad

are right here with me.

Love poured onto canvas.

I can almost see them all smiling

as I work with my hands.
And  although I never quite captured an interest in painting on canvas,
I pour my own love into creating my dream catchers and rosaries.

"The most wonderful moment of the day is that when creation in its innocence asks permission to "be" once again, 
as it did on the first morning that ever was."
~Thomas Merton, 'A Book of Hours'

~ "Be" the Blessing ~

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Thank you all for your continued support, encouragement, and love!

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House of Love

I lean over her aging face ~

upside down ~

and kiss her soft cheek.

She is lying diagonally across a hospital bed in her bedroom.

The bucket of water and pitcher sit next to my Dad's bed.

Towels, shampoo and conditioner lay on it.

I dip the pitcher into the warm water and as Dad sit on the bed and tenderly supports her,

the water pours over her head and splashes into the large bin in front of me,

wetting the fine, thin white hair.

Fragrant suds of tea tree oil and peppermint fill the room

She closes her eyes and relaxes.

Massaging the scented suds out and rubbing the lemon-sage conditioner in.

I talk softly of no-nonsense things.

I reminisce of days long ago...

of her washing my long, blond hair in the kitchen sink when I was a little girl.

There was lemon-scented shampoo back then, too. 

I watch Dad gazing at her face as I wrap her head in a towel.

Classical music swirls around the room from the bedside radio.

It's a an hour in my life that I treasure each week.

The hairdryer blows warm air as I create soft waves in her hair with a round brush.

She still has beautifully silky hair,

although it is much thinner now.

Pink scalp showing through the snow white.

Her eyes are closed once again

as she tolerates my fussy brushing,

teasing, and hairspraying.

Tucking her layered strands behind her ears,

she looks like she used to before her dementia diagnosis and stroke...

if only for a moment. 

♥

I hear Dad in the bathroom rinsing out the tubs and hanging up towels

as I set a small square bucket on her lap.

Soapy water sloshes back and forth and I ask her to put her hands in it.

She opens her eyes and looks blankly at me,

but her hands attempt to move into the warm water.

I wash her hands and scrub her nails,

encouraging her to play in the water a bit.

Her pale fingers move back and forth as she holds my face steadily in her gaze.

"Does that feel nice, Mom?", I ask.

Her head nods ever so slightly.

Source

I dry those aged hands.

Hands that have held me,

touched my face in love,

and waved goodbye to me.

Hands that I've seen clutched tightly in pain

time and time again.

And then opened in relief.

♥

I pick up the nail file to file her nails short.

Hands....wrinkled.

Skin....thin.

But so soft to the touch.

Toenails are next and more difficult.

Her toes are curled under and crooked.

I tuck her into bed for an afternoon nap.

She's exhausted.

She looks beautiful to me laying there on the blue sheets.

♥

Piano music floats softly from the room next door.

Dad is playing his cherished piano now.

Source

I smile.

A self-taught pianist.

A handwritten list of hymns propped up before him on a pad of lined paper.

He doesn't know how to read music.

He plays from memory.

Trial and error.

His wish is to someday sit at the big organ in his church

and attempt to play something.....anything.

Fear and uncertainty hold him back.

But a maestro when caring for his beloved wife.

♥

I stand in the hallway between the two rooms.

Mom sleeping peacefully in one.

Dad praising God in the other.

Love has filled the house.

It is palpable.

I embrace it

and 

tuck it into my heart.

~ Blessings  ~

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Breathing in the New Year...

I took the day off today to breathe.

Breathe in being a wife and exhale the stress that has entwined itself around my mind.

Unwind.

Regroup.

Relax.

My body and mind needed it desperately.

If you follow me on Facebook, you know I've been driving two hours a day to spend the day with my mom who is now in a rehab center recovering from a recent stroke.

 It's taking a toll not only on my poor old SUV 

(which is having hiccup issues)

but on me, too.

I feel like I'm in the "Groundhog Day" movie;

getting up and doing the same thing over and over and over again, 

day after day after day.

I'm not complaining.

Really, I'm not.

The hours spent with Mom are treasured and cherished.

I need to be there to relieve my Dad and support him.

But I'm feeling frustrated with the lack of improvement I see in my Mom.

I expected her to be walking again

and feeding herself

and in the least able to hold a partial conversation with me.

So, I wait.

I hold her hand and rub her back.

I talk to her and tell her I love her.

I comb her hair and put on her lipstick.

I pray constantly.

I beg.

I cajole.

I pray again.

And I wait for God to answer our prayers.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  

I was anxious to get my house back in order after Christmas.

So I spent the day decluttering, putting away Christmas decor,

cleaning, and refloofing ~

And just breathing in being a housewife for the day.

I love doing housework.

It relaxes me and I don't stress out over it.

I found some time to hang another little chandy, too.

This one's just for looks right now,

and doesn't work quite yet.

But at least it's out of the box it was sitting in on the floor in my office.

It did my heart good to dip into my bucket of inspiration 

and create some new vignettes.

This darling little crown ring box filled with a couple tiny treasures

is one of many beautiful shabby chic Christmas gifts sent to me from my good friend and sister-in-Christ, 

Stephanie at The Spanish Dahlia.

♥

This old fruit drying crate was pulled from the abyss in my basement.

I've been wanting to use it in someway

but it continually stumped me

and I would find myself wandering blankly around the house with it.

Not quite sure it "feels" right yet, though.

This vignette may need a little reworking.

I moved to the kitchen and freshened up the table vignette.

Blush pink roses drying on the pie safe,

will soon join the dried ones

on the other side of the kitchen.

I'm breathing easier now.

A little creativity does do the heart and mind good.

I'm ready to tackle another week, too.

Ready to spend it in grateful prayer at my mom's side.

♥

To those of you who have been praying for my family,

I deeply thank you.

For those of you dealing with the same thing,

know that I am praying for you...

And may the new year bring you all an abundance of 

peace, 

joy, 

and 

answered prayer.

~ Blessings ~

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A Daughter's Love

Pinterest

The little girl with the blonde braids and pink flowered bathing suit holds her mother’s hand on one side and her father’s hand on the other as she is lifted above the waves as they roll onto the shore.  She squeals in delight as her toes skim the top of the frothy blue water. Their laughter fills the summer air.

Later, as the sun lowers into the deep blue lake, her head lowers as she peers into the Coke bottle filled with orange ladybugs she’s collected that day.  She smiles up into the loving face of her mother who shepherds her toward the big old cottage surrounded by dune grass and tall pines.  She looks forward to climbing into the big, brass bed and snuggling under piles of colorful handmade quilts as the rolling waves lullaby her to sleep.

I am so grateful for beautiful summers spent at the cottage with you and Dad. Because of those long, sparkling, sun-filled days, I embrace my love of being by the water.

~  ♥  ~

Google image

The young girl walks toward the library on a late spring day after school to meet her mother to walk together the short distance home for dinner.  She enters the cool, quiet building that has the distinct smell of books, paper, and ink, and sinks into a big leather chair with the book her mother had picked out for her.  As her eyes dance across the words, she is transported to another world. She looks up to see her mother watching her through the glass window of the office, and smiles.

I am so grateful for the love of the written word you instilled in me through the books you chose for me as a child.

~  ♥  ~

Google image

The young girl sits at the piano, chin quivering and smile turned upside down.  Practice is not in her plans for the day, but the mother gazes sternly at her and points at the keys.  She begrudgingly starts plunking out the notes to the song.  The mother peeks around the corner and nods her head, smiling. Thirty minutes later, frown long gone, fingers flying across the keys…the music has captured the daughter's soul as her mother hums along in the kitchen.

I am so grateful for the piano lessons you gave me which taught me the love of music.

~  ♥  ~

Google image

The small girl in the shorts and tee shirt follows the mother out the door and together they walk into the back yard.  Strung from the house to the garage is a long, white clothesline that crosses in front of a large, fragrant, purple lilac bush. The mother sets the laundry basket down and hangs up the clothespin bag, dropping a couple weathered clothespins into her daughter’s open hands.  She pulls down the line as the daughter’s tiny feet arch up onto toes and she clips the pillow slip onto the line, her mother’s hands guiding. Sun warm on their heads as the clothesline fills with sweet smelling linens.

I am so grateful for sweet, simple times spent with you.

~  ♥  ~

Google image

The young girl stands at the kitchen counter between the mother and grandmother.  All three wearing aprons. All three smiling and laughing. The grandmother shows the young girl the easiest and fastest way to slice apples.  The mother bustles about the kitchen preparing canning jars and stirring the spicy, bubbling applesauce mixture on the stove.  It’s a time of learning for the young girl.  A time of teaching for the mother and grandmother.  A time of bonding for all three. Three generations of love standing shoulder to shoulder.

Google image

Many years later, the adult daughter stands at the kitchen counter next to her mother.  They both wear aprons.  The mother hands each ingredient to the daughter.  The spices are shaken into the zucchini mixture in the big ironstone bowl.  The daughter asks a question that makes the mother smile and their heads touch in laughter.  Loving memories of the grandmother need not be spoken. They are there. The room is filled with the smell of fresh, warm zucchini bread.

I am so grateful for the life lessons you taught me throughout the years.

 ~  ♥  ~

Mother's Day - 2008

The mother and daughter sit hip to hip in the golf cart. Daughter encouraging her mother in the driver's seat.  The mother's eyesight at only a sliver of what it used be before radiation treatments years before.  Nerves jangle, and anxious laughter fills the air. Her foot presses down tentatively on the pedal and the cart jumps forward.  More nervous laughter erupts as family members clap and encourage.  Hair soon blows in the wind as the mother realizes that she can do this as the cart flies across the yard. The daughter's heart is filled with happiness at the joy she sees on her mother's face.

I am so grateful for your courage and willingness to try new things, but most of all ~ your sweet laughter.

~  ♥  ~

Google image

The daughter stands at the foot of the hospital bed.  The mother lays amidst the crisp, white sheets, complexion pale, eyes tired.  She lays a hand on the aged hand and strokes it lightly.  Prayers whispered quietly to the angels attending. So many times spent like this.  So many times leaving stronger.  So many gifts of healing from God over the years. So many answered prayers.

I am so grateful for your continued strength and determination ~ a true testament of the faith and trust that you have in our Lord Jesus Christ.

                                                                

~  ♥  ~

September 2011

The mother grasps the daughter’s arm as they make their way into the restaurant while the father parks the car.  Rich Asian smells drift from the open door. Walking slowly, arm in arm, shoulders touching.  The daughter feels the shaking warmth of her mother’s hand as she covers it with her own.  Memories of holding hands and jumping waves stir inside her soul. Memories of lilac scented laundry, hospital rooms, applesauce, zucchini bread, and piano music wrap themselves softly around her heart. She silently prays that her mother will never let go of her hand.

Because she loves her so very much…

                                   and still needs her...


                                         to help her jump more waves.

Google image

I love you beyond words, Mom. 


Happy Mother's Day ~

♥  [I created a booklet of these memories to give to my Mom for Mother's Day.  Because of her recent Alzheimer's diagnosis, I wanted to give her something to help her remember the cherished times that we spent together in the past. It will be something that she can look at from time to time...and remember how very much I love her.]

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